


Two Times Spann Was Kidnapped

by mothra_leo



Category: Laid to Rest (2009)
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Chromeskull is his own warning, Death, F/M, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Safewords, knife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25435120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothra_leo/pseuds/mothra_leo
Summary: The first time Spann's kidnapped, she thinks it's the worst operation she's ever seen. The second time, it's very competent, and she's a little uncertain about her future.Both times, Jesse is there afterwards.
Relationships: Chromeskull/Spann, Spann/Chromeskull
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	1. The First One

**Author's Note:**

> Huh. Got to a point with these characters where my own little timeline for them is at an impasse. From here, they either have their outlaw's-happy-ending, a la Hannibal where they never get any comeuppance, or Jesse (and potentially Spann) come to a messy end at the hands of the law and things are full of angst for her.  
> I don't actually want to write either of those.  
> But, here is what I did write.

The first time something goes really wrong for Spann, she thinks it’s the worst-executed kidnapping she’s ever seen.

She’s ashamed they got her. She’d known they were following her for three blocks. Her original destination had been their banker’s office, and when she spotted them she’d immediately gone somewhere else, but that was the problem.

There had been a classful of children embarking in front of a corner daycare. Every single one a TV-news-fuel witness. She could allow the pursuit to take her back around the corner, or endanger the children and cause a scene.

Maybe it had been the wrong choice. She can rationalize all she wants about collateral damage, but she also cared about keeping her profile low. If she’d been willing to make more of a scene, and risked police attention or witnesses, she might have escaped.

She still thinks it’s an amateurish operation. It was sheer shit luck that they’d gotten her. Part of her (a carefully compartmentalized one, like her fear) is furious. How did this happen? Were they following her for longer than she realized? Do they know where she lives? They will now, she thinks; her wallet is gone and she’s going to have to deal with any number of security vulnerabilities. And how did they find out she was Chromeskull’s personnel, anyway? But they did take her with that assumption. She overheard that. She’ll have to do some digging.

When she gets back. Chromeskull is not going to be pleased, she thinks. When Spann realized she was cornered, after she sent her panic signal, she’d almost taken that thought and used it. Started pleading for help; playing the unwilling accomplice; promising them monetary reward in order to help “rescue” her from the legendary woman-killer, and tried to make an opening to flee. Instead, she’d acted like she thought it was a robbery.

Some of them actually think she thinks that. Idiots.

Right now all she knows is that the people who took her are hired help, that they’re not wholly certain that the job is going smoothly, and that they distrust their employer’s purse strings as much as they do each other. Her captors haven’t stopped arguing about what to do with her since they got her into the trunk.

Still.

Some of her contempt, she knows, is due to her own experience planning this sort of thing. She’s made unsuspecting people disappear. But realistically, she shouldn’t be feeling superior. Spann’s the one at a disadvantage right now. She doesn’t know if her people will find her in time.

She doesn’t have to let her guard down or make any kind of mistake in order to end up dead. For now, she’s not allowing herself to think about that. Spann has several immediate priorities to focus on.

Priority one. Let them underestimate her. Once it was obvious to Spann that she wasn’t going to be able to avoid her situation, she decided that she would use or create as many chances as possible to leave it. She’s not above abandoning her pride in order to cultivate a vulnerable, nonthreatening appearance; she’s had a lot of examples of panicked fishies to work from. When they jammed her into the trunk, one of the things she did inside it was to remove her hairclip. Now that they’re in some sort of abandoned or industrial space, she’s been manhandled enough to present a nicely vulnerable-looking state of disarray. It’s better for pleading and protests. Her captors still aren’t entirely sure they actually have the right person, and she’s asked tearfully a few times what they want. So far, she’s satisfied with how they’ve shoved her into a corner and told her to stay quiet. She’s almost hidden from view, and that allows her to focus on other things.

Priority two. Arm herself. They didn’t bother searching her a second time, so they didn’t notice the halves of her hairclip. The strip of metal she keeps in it isn’t much, but it was enough to deal with the cheap handcuffs once they sat her down. Her hands are free now, and none of her captors are the wiser. She’s been keeping a quiet eye on the men around her, watching who’s really keeping an eye on her and who can’t be bothered; who’s watching their weapons and who’s carelessly putting a gun down on a table; what objects are laying around the room that she can grab.

Once she’s comfortable playing her hand and stealing a weapon, Spann plans to achieve priority three, if help hasn’t arrived.

Priority three: kill the bastards.

One of the men clinks down a “tactical” belt, laden with throwing knives, down on the table opposite her. He doesn’t even look in Spann’s direction.

“Drone’s up,” one of the techs announces. “No one calls out unless we say so.”

In the middle of his operation, Chromeskull is pacing.

This shouldn’t have happened. He has a security consultant; their tactics are generally effective. Did someone pass information? Was there simple bad luck? Did Spann, much as he hates to think it, make a mistake?

If anyone else made a mistake, Jesse thinks, he’ll flay them.

“I have their security cameras, sir.” Quent announces. Chromeskull nods, and a moment later he can see Spann on the screen.

In the back of the room, the mood changes. Spann hears one of the men talking. He suddenly sounds indignant.

“Don’t fuck with me,” she hears distantly. “That’s not  _ probably fine _ . He doesn’t play around-”

No one is left near her. The room is long and open. She doesn’t like her chances without a gun, but she has to make a move before someone else decides to settle the matter in their favor.

Spann makes a grab at the knives.

On the silent, grainy feed, Jesse sees her spring into action, and his heart skips.

She’s quick. She’s thought about it. She’s lucky. He hasn’t often seen Spann in action-the entire point of her position is that she never is-but Jesse knows she trains.

Nine men. Five thrown knives. Four hits; she misses one man entirely. Two are in no shape to fight back. No one’s had time to react when Spann closes up with her first victim, sputtering as he clutches at the blade buried in his throat. She yanks the blade out, arterial splatter making her wince more than she likes, and elevating his wound to a far more immediate concern. As he falls to his knees, she pulls out his gun-he’s one of the ones wearing it without a strap-and fires. Six shots. Six kills, and that puts paid to the back of the room.

She’s beautiful, and he loves every sinful moment of watching her kill, and he hates it.

Jesse should be the one in there, not her. He wants to leave for the site immediately. He wants to find the person who ordered the kidnapping and eviscerate them.

The ferocity of his desire is enough to give Chromeskull pause.

He wants to  _ save _ her. That is a weakness. A threat. Chromeskull is morbidly amused by the fact that, even as Spann murders the men who thought they could use her, they’ve exposed a weakness after all.

It won’t help them. They’ll never even know.

The last one to go is one of the knife victims. He’s fumbling one-handed with a cell phone, not a gun. He’s afraid. Spann walks two steps over to him and, placing the hot barrel end against his head to distract him, slits his throat with her bloody throwing knife instead of finding out if she’s out of bullets.

She’s lucky, and she knows it.

That doesn’t mean she has any time to waste. Spann takes another gun and cases the facility-some cheap industrial space, really-and locks up. When she’s satisfied that she’ll be alone for a moment, she gets back to work.

If nothing else, she thinks, the day’s lesson will be not to mess with Chromeskull’s people.

On the screen, the room is still except for Spann. She’s briskly checking the pockets of the corpses, keeping an object or two and discarding others with her usual efficiency. She picks up a cell phone and enters a number.

One of the techs near Chromeskull picks up. “Hello?”

The voice is not the tech’s, but a text-to-speech reading. Spann doesn’t say anything on the line, either. Jesse hears button-press tones, muffled, through the tech’s headpiece as Spann responds numerically. The tech confirms her personal code, checking the computer as he works.

The tech’s eyes flicker to Jesse and back. She signals something more.

“Right away.” The tech’s computer voices. He closes the call, and looks up at Chromeskull.

“I’m sending a clean-up crew now, sir. Will you be going out?”

He can’t.

If he leaves now, swoops down after the fact, it would be obvious. She’s got things under control. Her people have things under control. He would be visibly acting out of concern for Spann instead of out of a need to protect his asset. Jesse wants to; but Spann wouldn’t want him to expose a weakness through his own actions, and he doesn’t want to destroy her reputation in his own organization by treating her as if he doesn’t trust her to finish this.

He has a role to play here. He must be the shadow of Death, ready to go after whoever is responsible for this; not a hovering, anxious man who wants to help her. Cleanup is Spann’s work; she would be overseeing this if she was here and not the one onsite.

Chromeskull shakes his head no. He turns and sweeps out of the room. It will instill a bit of anxiety in them; is he angry with the incident? They will wonder. But it also gives him time to think.

When his Spann has returned, then he will let her present her victory to him.

There are two sharp knocks on the door of Chromeskull’s office. He thumbs the lock button.

Spann enters, and inside, Jesse breathes a sigh of relief.

She’s as well-put-together as always. Her hair is tied back. Her suit is untouched. Her walk is straight, unhesitant. He can’t see anything untoward on her throat or forearms. She must be concealing bruises, he thinks. No one else has permission to touch her. Who dared-

Jesse controls himself.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she says. “I apologize for my late arrival.”

He tilts his head a little. Taps on his phone.  **ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?**

“I’ll manage, thank you.” She’s crisp. Maybe trying too hard. “I have the new target report for you. I also have an incident report regarding the security breach that took place early this morning.”

He inspects her shoulder, where he’s certain she should have a bruise, and thinks of the blood splatter that stained her bare skin earlier.  **TARGET LATER. WHO DID IT?**

She blinks. “I believe that Mr. Byrd hired the group. As you recall, we turned down his offer two months ago. His goal appears to have been pressuring you to assassinate a progressive political target.”

Fools. Chromeskull has a reputation; they should have listened. Now, he’ll have to do something about them, and Jesse doesn’t want to make any more political enemies. It will keep drawing attention.

“I’ve confirmed that a fixer of his was among the personnel neutralized onsite,” Spann is saying. “We’re working on tracing him and the rest of his people down. Quietly, for now.”

Of course. She’s got things under control. His admirable second-in-command. None of Preston’s sass, no frustration. No blame. None of that for Jesse anymore.

He might deserve blame.

“I’m still working on an analysis of the breach,” Spann says. “At this time, I think it’s probable that my identity as a member of your organization is known by more than this one group.”

She’s very solemn. He realizes what she means, and sits up straighter. “I can’t say who knows at this point. Law enforcement can’t be ruled out, although it’s likely that Byrd might have wanted to hold on to the information as blackmail.” She breathes. “This limits my civilian identity’s usefulness.”

That’s an understatement. Caitlin Spann, the HR director and occasional rich vacationer, has been useful in various ruses. She would have figured in multiple emergency scenarios, as well. Now that isn’t an option. That’s fine, Jesse thinks. She did well for him.

Suddenly it hits him. She feels like she failed him, and here Jesse is, still mentally stroking it off over watching her defend herself so effectively.

“You may wish to consider cultivating Quent’s civilian identity, or a new me-”

He’s out of his chair before he realizes he’s moving.

She reacts; but not the same way as before, not the sharp merciless speed she reacted to her attackers with. Spann flinches, and Jesse likes that because he knows she doesn’t act naturally with anyone but him. He pins her to the office wall, caging her in, relishing in the fact that she lets him.

Her back against the wall, Spann stares up into Chromeskull’s eyes. She takes a moment to breathe.

“I’m glad I could come back, sir. I’m… I’m glad you let me.” It’s a personal admission, and she’s not sure why she’s saying it now. It really has been a bad day, she thinks, if she’s so willing to admit her insecurities outside of the bedroom.

He stares down into her, his breath the only sound between them, and bends down until his mask nuzzles against her forehead.

“Sir?” Her voice is quiet, soft, but not scared.

“Green?” he signs, his hand brushing past her.

“Yellow,” she admits.

Jesse can work with that. She’s already put in a call to a professional; he probably wouldn’t be doing this if she hadn’t.

He needs a moment before he can go for his phone. He slides an arm around her back, holding her close while he reaches for it with his other hand. Her heels leave the ground. It’s effortless for him to hold her close. She nuzzles against him.

Then he types.  **YOU WERE MAGNIFICENT.**

Spann reads the words. Her response is even more quiet. “Thank you, sir. I’m... displeased I was caught.”

Objectively he knows they need a security review. Personally, Jesse’s just grateful Spann’s back in one piece.

Privately, he wants to see her dripping with other men’s blood.

**WE WILL HANDLE THE FALLOUT** , he writes.  **FIRST. TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL** .

He watches her lips quirk as she reads. She looks back up at him. “Sir, I…” She hesitates, but she says it anyway. They’re past the level of awe she once held between them. “I’ll be fine. My pride’s hurt, mostly. I’m disappointed, but I’m glad you had my back.”

Is that how she feels?

**CHROMESKULL COULD NOT INTERFERE.**

She says nothing as he taps more. Spann knows what he’s thinking. She’s responsible for half of it; the entire idea of Chromeskull’s identity, the fact that he is an idea, as much as an overly-rich murdering sadist. If she hadn’t been so intent upon that, would he have come to her rescue? Is she so deep in her obsession that she wishes he, the murdering sadist, would have come to save her?

That’s probably a given, she realizes sardonically.

**WAITING WAS. UNPLEASANT. YOU COULD HAVE DIED.**

When he’s showing her, and it’s too late for him to rephrase, he realizes that maybe this is how Spann feels every time he goes off to amuse himself. Since when does Jesse care about that?

Since they started using responsible safewords, probably.

She looks solemnly up at him, and he can see she’s thinking. It’s Spann; she would normally say that Chromeskull would always find someone capable of doing her job. But she’s not a fool. Maybe she, too, knows that there’s something else between them. Something less replaceable.

“I’m glad things went well,” she says. “I know it could have gone worse.”

He sighs; of course, she can’t see the look on his face. He nuzzles at her again and lets her go, setting her down on her feet.

“My Spann,” he signs. Her eyes widen a little.  **YOU WERE SO STRONG FOR ME** , he types. If she could see his face, he’d be smiling.  **IF YOU NEED TIME, TAKE IT. WHEN WE REMOVE BYRD** , he says,  **IT WOULD PLEASE ME TO LET YOU TAKE CARE OF HIM.**

“...yes, sir,” she says.

He isn’t entirely sure what he’s asking her to do, yet. Should she come on the hunt with him? Is he asking her to go take out the man herself? He’ll figure out what that looks like later. He just can’t resist the idea of seeing her like that again.

Maybe in her suit, he thinks. Her perfect hair just a little out of order. Maybe if her heels-

“Sir?” She asks. He focuses. She’s got that slightly glazed look in her eyes; that look that says she’s letting go, allowing her mind to lay its burdens down.  _ His _ Spann.

“Stay with me?” he asks silently, holding out his gloved hand. She takes his hand, and Jesse takes her up the back entrance to his rooms. He’s going to show her exactly how pleased he is that she came back safely to him, and how pleased he is with her work.

He opens the box. How should he go about this?

“What can I do?” He signs. Spann’s lips press together for a moment. She’s never liked being open with her own wants, and she knows that’s what he wants to take into consideration, so he’s asking her to do exactly that.

“I’d like to let go,” she says. “Please, sir. Let me belong to you?”

He takes her collar out. “Color?”

“ _ Green _ ,” she says, with an edge.

She has that look on her face as he buckles the collar into place. That “This man is amazing, and I’m the one who gets to have that” proud look of hers. He’s caught it sometimes when she takes care of his shaving, or after they’ve had sex.

Or when he’s killed, and come back to her.

Jesse clips a leash to her collar, and gives it an exploratory tug. Spann exhales delightedly as she’s pulled forward. Good.

“Show me everything,” he signs. “All the marks.” He’s going to reclaim every inch of her. “My Spann.”

She watches his hands breathlessly, and nods. “Please, sir.”


	2. The Second One

The second time something goes really wrong for Spann, she thinks it might be the best-executed kidnapping she’s ever seen.

For one that she didn’t organize herself, anyway.

One moment, she was settling down to dinner. The next? She was blindfolded and restrained in an unknown location. They got to her in her own home. She hasn’t been able to alert anyone. She hasn’t been able to identify where they took her, or how many there are.

There are a few up sides. Unless they did something about it, there is video footage. Spann doesn’t need to alert anyone, because regular checkins have become part of her routine. Help should be on the way, if they can find out where she is.

If.

Chromeskull comes down in the middle of the night at Quent’s request to find his operations room unexpectedly busy, and Spann absent. Soon, Quent has him caught up to speed. It’s not good news.

“The company does federal jobs, as well as some shady private ones,” Quent observes. “Their employer could very well be the US government.”

Chromeskull stares down the screen. The building looks innocuous. It could just as easily be one of his hideouts. The private military crew holed up in there isn’t working for a nobody, and even if it’s only doing a favor for an ex-General or someone with a corporate connection, he doesn’t want to be dealing with them. It’s unlikely they’re Byrd’s people, at least. There’s not much left of that idiot, not after Spann was done making him bleed for Jesse.

He thinks of how angelic she looked, bloody and satisfied, and gets to work.

She’s in a different room now. They uncuff one wrist, but then she’s tugged by the cuffed one. Spann follows as best she can. There’s nothing to be done. She’s not able to determine anything useful, not by sound or touch. She’s yanked forward another few steps, and nearly trips over something. Waist-height. A metal bar? Spann only has a moment before she’s cuffed to it. Another cuff is clasped over her free wrist, and then that, too, is connected to the bar.

She doesn’t like it. She’s not sure if there’s a wall on the other side of the bar, or if she’s exposed in the middle of the room. It’s at a height where she could easily be bent over it-

No. Best not to think about possibilities.

To cap it off, a pair of earmuffs is shoved clumsily on her head. Spann can hear; they’re not noise-cancelling, but they’re enough to make it hard for her to pick out any useful spoken words.

Another full-body search. They just cut off her outer clothes, and she bears with the indignity as best she can. This time, they do take her hairclip, and they find the RTLS tag in her waistband. Spann thinks she hears a muffled curse.

She really hopes so.

“They have a Stingray,” Chromeskull hears in his ear. “We’re already using countermeasures.”

He’s not that surprised. These people are professionals. It’s possible that he’ll have local law enforcement or an aboveboard federal response readying itself. Maybe the FBI. They keep having to force those investigations to close.

Damn it. This was never what being Chromeskull was about. He never wanted to attract this sort of attention. Has Chromeskull, as a concept, changed too much? He threw himself so hard into the role after his wife died. As effective and profitable as his organization has become, he’s expanded into so much more than covert hobby kills. Contract work. That was invigorating, at first. Profitable, too. Now, because of Spann, he’s wondering if he should make a change. Relocate, perhaps, but roll things back in general.

There hasn’t even been a hunt for personal pleasure for a while now. It hasn’t always been safe to go back to that, and he’s been busy doing other people’s dirty work often enough. He doesn’t want to have to stop doing what he does, but Jesse thinks he might have to.

He opens another door in the unoccupied next-door building, and creeps into the next room. There’s nothing here to surprise him; if he can just get things set up quietly in the next building, he can set off his distractions and see about recovery.

The irony of trying to preserve a woman’s life instead of seek it out is not lost on him. Not for the first time, Chromeskull wonders if he should just let her die. But it isn’t Spann’s fault that she’s forced him to face some things about himself. And Jesse will not allow himself to abandon her.

He doesn’t deserve her; but he’ll fight, all the same.

How long? Spann wonders. Too long, she feels. But she doesn’t know, not really. Long enough to be very uncomfortable, yes, but maybe not long enough for her team to get things moving.

She hopes they can. The situation is bad enough that, if they’re aware of it, even Chromeskull might hesitate.

Will he come, if this is too much for them?

Suddenly, all around her, Spann hears the muffled clicks of guns being readied. Then, a moment later, something crashes into the side of her knee and she cries out.

The only thing she can think as her knee burns in pain is that she’s glad she didn’t scream outright.

In the roof, Jesse hears her. His gloved hand tightens on his weapon. He has to force himself to loosen the grip.

What Spann did not see was the sudden darkness in the room. What she did not hear was the sudden cessation of all activity around her, and the subsequent response. Wariness permeates the darkened room. Soldiers are ordered out in pairs to case the building. They think Chromeskull will come to the room she’s in. They think they know what to do.

He does not begin there. Soon, gunshots echo down the halls from the scouting teams.

Spann does hear the gunshots; and she’s afraid for Chromeskull.

It’s careful, exhausting work. Chromeskull plays the men and women through the building, picking them off. He lures away as many as he can until they stop allowing themselves to be pulled out to die. Not enough of them; but as many as he can get with cat-and-mouse games. Maybe enough to go in and get the rest in a more direct manner.

His people are jamming them, but in this situation, Chromeskull isn’t sure he has any margin of time.

He sees Spann.

She’s in the middle of the largest room, chained to a section of railing that blocks off a staircase down somewhere. Even with the blindfold and ear covers, he knows her at a glance. She’s favoring one knee.

There are seven, maybe eight men in the room. All of them are pointing guns down a dark hallway, at the silence where, a few moments ago, they could hear the choking as one of their comrades sputtered to death on his own bile.

It’s not the hallway Chromeskull comes in through.

Spann hears the chains draping down onto the floor. She knows. She bends down, unaware of the precarious drop in front of the railing; she doesn’t want to be an obstacle. She doesn’t see the men turn their heads. She barely hears the cut-off shouts as Chromeskull strikes. She feels the movement of air above her head. She feels hot blood spray against her skin.

A presence walks past her.

Chromeskull sweeps death through the room. The whips are difficult, even for him, but they do their job, sinking in along necks and rending skin from bone.

Can Spann see him? he wonders. Her head moves, tracking him almost correctly across the floor as he stalks towards the remaining two men.

One of them has a jammed gun, and the other’s hand is wrenched painfully in one of his chains, cut up on the sharp segments. His presence has finally done its work, and if he’s lucky, neither of them will get their nerves back and arm themselves before he can finish the job.

He stabs one in the face. The other, he is pleased to grab, pull up, and stare down.

“Oh, fuck-” The man gasps.

Fuck, indeed, Chromeskull thinks.

He holds the man up by his hair and gets his second knife. The soldier protests and flails, braces his hands on Chromeskull’s arm, but nothing he can do stops Chromeskull from driving the blade deep into his stomach.

Chromeskull doesn’t make it clean. He actually does want this man to live a while longer, for questioning, but it doesn’t have to be painless.

Nor does the prisoner have to last very long.

Moments later, Chromeskull pulls the blindfold and headphones off of Spann. She blinks, stands up carefully, and looks into his mask.

She looks so vulnerable, and he  _ feels _ things, and he hates and loves that.

Spann’s quiet as he gets the cuffs off her. Once free, she wobbles again on her injured leg, and he pulls her close.

He’s so strong. She wants to break down into tears on the spot. She was so afraid, and she knows they’re still not safe, and she hates being so bare and undignified and weak.

She’s a liability. She knew it.

The team is already onsite, and they come in to whisk her away. She clutches at Jesse as one of her people tries to survey what’s going on with her leg.

He stays with her as long as he can.

Days later, Spann’s not doing all that much better. She’s safe, and clean, and clothed, and fed, she’ll admit. She’s been laid up in Jesse’s apartment, given umpteen scans and some preliminary prospects for a functional knee in the future. Surgery will be involved.

She’s unsatisfied.

She’s helping her people figure out what happened. None of the news is good. The operation isn’t safe, and while the pressure is off for now, that’s solely because of pre-existing plans.

They have to abandon their sites again, and this time, she doesn’t know what she thinks about starting up Mr. Cromeans’ hobbies again in another place.

Spann doesn’t want to do this anymore.

Not because she was injured, but because she couldn’t see the attack coming. Not because she doesn’t want to do everything she can for Jesse, but because she knows she can’t do enough. They’re both only mortal, no matter how much they play God with others’ lives.

Jesse’s very busy, given the situation. Spann spends long hours alone in his rooms. She finds other things to do, but they only work so well. She can only invest so much time in socking money into the stock market (that sort of thing takes patience, although it’s gone a long way towards satisfying her adrenaline needs).

That night, there is a knock on the door. She checks the camera.

“I’m decent,” she calls. It’s kind of him to knock, she thinks. Jesse comes in, still wearing his mask, but with a physical attitude that says Jesse, not Chromeskull.

**WE MOVE TOMORROW** , he types for her. Spann nods.

She wishes she could do better, but they’ve had that conversation already.

**I MISS YOU DOWN THERE** , he says.

Spann smiles. “I miss being down there, too.” she says. Should she say it now? Things have to change. But she trusts Jesse, and for some reason, she doesn’t broach the topic. Instead, she watches him cross the room and open the box they keep their playthings in.

He pulls out a collar and turns to her, offering it.

Not hers. This one is longer and broader, with silver studs and thread in an intricate pattern. Spann chose this collar--for him.

She takes it, looking flatly at the object. She sighs. “What can I do?”

“I’ll do anything,” Jesse signs. “Your orders.”

Her eyes flicker back to her laptop. She closes it, puts it aside, and swings her legs gingerly off the side of the bed, so she can face him. She beckons him closer. “I’m more worried about what I can do for you. Or, what I can’t. Things will need to change, sir.”

He kneels down by the bed. He’s nearly level with her.  **I WOULD BLEED FOR YOU. I WOULD KILL FOR YOU.** He doesn’t even pause.  **I COULD STOP BEING CHROMESKULL.** It’s an unaccountable admission from him.

She exhales. “Not for me.” She feeds the collar around his neck. It snaps firmly into place, and she hooks a finger into the metal ring in front. “Not for me alone,” she amends. “I couldn’t bear that.” She knows he’s been reconsidering the shape of things lately. “If you do scale back, or end this, you have to decide on something  _ you _ can live with. I’ll help you do whatever you decide, if I can; but I don’t want you to choose something less than ideal for my sake.”

He considers it. Nods.

“Right now…” Spann muses. It’s a relief, now that she said what’s been on her mind. And knowing that he’s considering it. “Anything, hmm?”

He nods again.

“Take off your mask.”

He places a finger on one side and breaks the adhesion. It slips off and his face, scarred and unique, lies underneath.

“Hand it here.”

Jesse hands it to Spann. She examines the mask closely. There are years of her life in that dead stare. She carefully puts it aside and looks up into the eyes of the man behind it. “That’s better.” Whatever happens, he’s here. That’s a gift she doesn’t understand, and won’t refuse.

Hmm. “Right now, you don’t have to be Chromeskull,” she says. “You also don’t have to decide what you’re going to do about all of this. Not tonight. Tonight, you’re my Jesse, who saved me and did such a good job. Color?” she asks.

“Green,” he signs. He leans forward, nuzzling against her good knee. He’s so careful with her now. She loves it, and hates it.

Spann caresses the side of his head, down his neck. “That’s right. My Jesse. Nothing rough tonight; no knives for you. Come lay down with me.” She wants to keep him close.

He stands up, takes off his shoes. He’s moving back when she holds up a hand. “No. Take your clothes off, first.”

He raises a brow. There’s no hair to define it, but Spann can see the little dimple. She smiles. Her injuries aren’t forgotten, but right now, she doesn’t care at all. “Go on. You’re mine, sir. Let me see you.” The title slips through, but she doesn’t correct it. It’s the sort of thing she tends to do in these situations, and Jesse’s happy to see it. She’s feeling a little better. That’s good.

He strips down, from gloves to jacket to gun belt and shirt, pants and underthings. The collar clinks sometimes. She watches his every move. Only then does she beckon him close again.

“You look good wearing only my collar,” Spann says as she pulls him down into bed. She settles him alongside her, then props herself up on her side, so that she can look down across him and get her hands on him. She pulls up the covers, so they’re both more comfortable. And, perhaps, making it less potentially humiliating to expose Jesse like this.

That’s not a terrible thought, though. Spann’s wondered just how far she could take things with him. It would be pleasant to make him feel as owned as she does-if he could enjoy that. Right now, she just wants to experience him. Appreciate him. There’s nothing stopping her, not right now. She’s in control.

“I love the way you’re built,” she comments as she traces her hand across his body. “Everything about you is so deliciously strong. You work so hard at it.” Spann’s stopped caring whether she keeps her thoughts to herself lately. “And I love what you did for me,” she whispers, leaning over so she’s half on top of him. Her knee’s taped and wrapped well enough; she can handle it. “My Jesse. You wouldn’t let them take me away from you,” she says, letting her voice waver despite its hardness.

“Don’t,” she says suddenly. His hands pause, half-raised from the bed to hold her, and return to his sides. “That’s a good boy,” Spann continues. “All that strength and you’re hanging on my every word.”

He nods. She enjoys the way his eyes look. He’s hard, too, and she isn’t paying that nearly enough attention. She presses harder against him. “That’s right. You’ll do what I say.” A smile creeps onto her face unintentionally, but she smiles widely.

“Please,” Jesse mouths. Span can see it and her breath hitches.

“Please, what?” she asks, lowly. Gives his hands space.

“Stay with me,” he signs. “I need you.” He can’t just mean in the moment. It’s the closest he’s ever come to saying love.

Spann’s tearing up, but she ignores it. “Always, sir,” she says, pulling herself more on top of him. Almost straddling; still favoring the knee. She leans down and kisses him, taking as long as she wants. He’s softly thrusting against her hips by the time she’s done.

“My Jesse,” she says. “My handsome, lethal, precious…” She keeps talking, kissing and taking liberties with his body, until Jesse feels like he’s going to come without much effort. He feels safe like this. Despite the danger they’re in, the uncertainty of the future, and the knowledge that he’s got to deal with things when he leaves his rooms, he feels safe.

He wants this as much as he wants to kill. Maybe more. Since when has he preferred life to causing death?

Spann licks at his throat and he bucks against her.

“Shh, little one,” she says, grinning. “You just love hearing all that, don’t you?” She  _ giggles _ against his skin, and it’s so damn cute, and her bite catches him unawares. He twitches. 

“Nnn…” Spann nuzzles him. “Maybe I’ll have to tie you up again. Show some self-control for me…”

Jesse hopes she does. No matter what happens after he leaves the room they’re in, he knows one thing.

He never asked for Spann. He’ll do anything to keep her.


End file.
